


got no time, no rewind

by 20poundsofcrazy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Sibling Bonding, and i will fight u on this, but they're all doing their best, everyone is very sad basically, morgan grew up and became a superhero, peter and morgan are siblings, peter has fiNaLs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:29:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29342850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/20poundsofcrazy/pseuds/20poundsofcrazy
Summary: New York needs a superhero now that Ironman is dead and Spiderman is "focusing on his studies". Morgan Stark has no idea why it can't be her. Peter's pretty sure nothing in the world prepared him to handle a fourteen year old superhero with a stubborn streak a mile long and the entire world's grief and expectations on her shoulders.
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	got no time, no rewind

**Author's Note:**

> so i wrote this based off a tumblr post and a ton of people asked for it in the comments, so here's chapter one! i hope y'all like it. morgan was super fun to write, i'm not gonna lie

“You have got to be kidding me.” Peter’s sigh was so strong Morgan could almost feel the air blow through the phone. She leaned against the wall, tipping her head upwards while keeping the phone pressed to her ear. The rough bricks dug into her scalp, but it was nothing compared to the pain she felt in her nose. Blood was running down her face, dripping over her lips. She could taste it, salty and hot like tears, only with the added metallic taste of iron. She was used to that smell, that taste, that word. Iron was in her blood, not just in a descriptive sense or a scientific one: She was part of what the media affectionately called the Ironfamily, after her dad. It was never going to go away, no matter how much others might wish it did. Peter being first on that list, especially right now.

“I’m not kidding,” she said quietly. “Please come pick me up?”

“You could’ve called Pepper,” he pointed out. Morgan’s heart stuttered into overdrive at the mention of her mother’s name.

“NO! Peter, you can’t tell her anything about this.” She clenched the phone tighter, her sweaty palm making the metal slick against her skin. The yelling made the pain in her nose burst even stronger, sending little lights dancing through her vision.

“God, Morgan, does she really not know?” 

“Did you report back to Dad every time you went out to save the world? I don’t think so,” Morgan shot back. “Besides, he told  _ you _ to take care of me,” she added, which was a low blow, but she didn’t care. If she had to live with the memory of her dad leaping out at her around corners every day, everyone else was going to damn well have to deal with it too. She could hear Peter swallow hard, even through the phone. She also heard a muffled honk and the low roar of traffic; he was already in the car. Some of the burn in her heart lessened, and a smile spread across her lips, then instantly disappeared as it made the pain in her face flare up again. 

“I’m almost there,” Peter sighed finally. 

“Thanks,” Morgan muttered. There was a click as Peter hung up, but she saw him in person a minute later, climbing out of his car. His eyes widened and his pace quickened as he caught sight of her, standing in the shadows of an alley, the dark lump of a body lying prone next to her. 

“Morgan, are you okay?” 

“You could’ve asked me that earlier,” she replied, moving to meet him. She started walking to the car but he lingered, staring at the unconscious body she had left behind.

“I called the police,” Morgan told him, ducking her head and climbing into the car. He followed, getting into the driver’s side. “They should be here for him soon,” she added. “He’ll be fine until then.” 

“I don’t even wanna know,” Peter said. “Don’t get blood on my seats.”

It turned out that Morgan’s nose wasn’t broken like she had thought when she’d first taken the hit. It was just bruised, and it hurt like hell, but after some pain meds and a special healing serum Peter had nicked from SHIELD last time he was there all that was left was the purple shadows of a wound inflicted weeks ago, not the agonizing rainbow it had been. 

“You can’t keep doing stuff like this,” Peter said, kicking the floor so that his chair swiveled back and forth. He was sitting backwards, his arms wrapped around the chair in an uncomfortable hug. 

“Who’s gonna stop me?” Morgan said, swinging her feet in the air from her perch on his desk. “New York needs a superhero now that you’ve decided to focus on your studies.” 

“Not one who’s fourteen! You’re gonna get yourself killed,” Peter cried, stopping his swivelling to look straight at her. She ducked her head as if she could avoid the intense concern in his gaze. 

“I’m fine,” she insisted. “I stopped the bad guy!” 

“And nearly broke your nose,” Peter countered. 

Morgan shrugged. “You’ve been hurt way worse. I mean, you fought in an actual war. You died.”

“I dusted,” Peter corrected. “Look, kid--” There was silence as Peter stopped mid sentence. Morgan inhaled a shaky breath, hearing the voice in her head, overlapping itself.  _ “Look, kid, this movie is for grownups. Your mom would kill me if I let you watch it.” “Kid, juice pops are not an appropriate after school snack.” _ Peter glanced at the floor, gently scuffing his foot along the edge of the worn carpet. The toe of his tennis sneaker connected with a candy wrapper and sent it skittering under the desk. 

“Goal,” Morgan said, offering a weak smile. Peter tried to smile back, running a hand through his messy curls. She dipped her foot downwards and kicked the wrapper towards him. It got caught in the wheels of his chair, but Peter laughed anyway and picked it up. 

“A goal for you.” He dropped it on the floor again and kicked it towards her. This time she moved her foot to block it, and they both laughed. It only made Morgan’s nose twinge slightly, and she marveled at the strength of the healing serum. 

“Hey, do you want to watch a movie?” she asked, hopping down from the desk to sit on Peter’s bed, if it could be called that. As was typical of college students, it was just a mattress on the floor, haphazardly adorned with thick, fluffy blankets that smelled slightly of cheetos. Peter turned the computer on and slid in a disk, then sat down next to her.

“What’d you put it in?”

“You’ll see,” he replied, nudging her shoulder so she looked towards the screen. The opening credits of The X-Files were playing; Morgan would recognize the theme music anywhere.

“This isn’t a movie,” she pointed out, but she was grinning.

“Yeah. It’s better.” She could hear the grin in Peter’s voice too. She smiled and settled in, pulling the blankets tighter around her.

“Peter?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for coming to get me today.” She kept her eyes trained on the computer as photos of UFOs flashed across the screen.

“Of course. I always will, little sis.” 

Morgan woke the next morning to an empty room, sunlight pouring through the windows, and about a million texts on her phone. One was from Peter ( _ Ill be gone when you wake up but don’t worry Im just in class) _ and the rest were from her mom. She tapped out a quick response:  _ mom i’m okay i’m at peter’s don’t worry so much  _ then tossed her phone into the nest of blankets and stood up. 

Her reflection in Peter’s spotted mirror showed a teenage girl, brown hair cut short and messy from a night of fitful sleep. Her bangs were swept across her forehead and she combed them back into place with her fingers. She could still see the shadow of a bruise on her nose, and her mascara was smeared beneath her eyes. She sighed and splashed water on her face. While she brushed her teeth she hummed a Sabrina Carpenter song, trying to remember the words. 

Peter wasn’t exactly a style icon, but Morgan yanked a big t-shirt out of his drawer and pulled it on, letting the soft fabric fall to her knees. She was pulling on her jeans from yesterday, thinking how she really ought to get a supersuit or something, when a knock sounded through the apartment. She padded across the wooden floors to open the door. 

“Hey, little one.” It was MJ, smiling and pushing the door open further with her hip. Her hands were full of books. 

“Hey, MJ,” Morgan said. “What’re you doing?”

“Dropping off these books for your brother,” MJ answered, dumping them on the table with a thump. They slid and scattered across the surface, bumping into a mess of wires and circuit boards. Morgan couldn’t even begin to tell what Peter was trying to build. 

“Wanna grab some breakfast?” MJ swept a stray curl out of her face and shoved her hands into her pockets, watching Morgan for her answer. She almost said no, but her stomach was growling, and she couldn’t stop thinking about a huge stack of waffles. She shrugged and followed MJ out the door. 

“So, Peter told me about yesterday,” she said once Morgan was halfway through her waffles. Morgan suddenly found it hard to swallow, and forced a lump of waffle down her throat, choking on it. Her mouth was so dry. She grabbed her water glass, sloshing icy water on her hand, and gulped down half the glass. MJ watched the whole thing, one eyebrow climbing steadily higher. Her lips were pressed together and Morgan could tell she was trying not to laugh. 

“Sorry, what?” Morgan asked when she could speak again. 

“I said, Peter told me about yesterday,” she repeated. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Morgan shook her head. “Nope.” She stabbed a waffle, watching how the late morning light turned her whole plate gold. 

“Sorry, you don’t really have a choice.” MJ laughed. Morgan sighed and looked at the woman across the table, at her perfectly messy bun and Harvard sweatshirt. Unlike most people, MJ wore it because she had actually gone to Harvard. She didn’t have a legacy to live up to, she was  _ making  _ a legacy. She had gone through the Snap, gone through everything, and found her place in the world despite it all, stayed by Peter’s side and built an amazing life for herself. She wasn’t like Morgan, who didn’t sleep most nights and found herself wandering the streets of New York begging for trouble just to feel hot blood run down her face and taste the iron of her birthright. She was a fighter, everyone had said it at some point.  _ “You can get through this, Morgan. You’re a fighter.” _

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she said aloud. “I’m doing what has to be done.”

“Yeah, but why you? Why do you have to do it?” 

“Someone has to,” Morgan replied. “Why not me? It’s what my dad did. It’s what Peter did.”

“Yeah, doing stupid stuff runs in your family,” MJ said, laughing a little. 

“It’s not stupid.” Morgan sat up in the booth, her fingers tapping on the sticky tabletop. Double time, triple time, she couldn’t stop them. “It’s what has to be done.” How many times was she going to say that? Why wouldn’t her fingers stay still? 

“You’re fourteen,” MJ countered. “You’re too young to go looking for danger.”

“Stop,” Morgan yelled, shoving herself out her seat, knocking over her water cup. Ice skittered over the edge of the table, shattering on the floor. “Just stop it, Michelle.” Head spinning, she stormed out of the diner into the hot sun, feeling it on the back of her neck the second she stepped outside. Even in the street the air was sour and tainted with the smell of oil. She couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t fill her lungs, no matter how she gasped. Her chest felt tight and empty, as if something was blocking air from entering it. Goddamn, did heart problems run in her family too? Is that why she felt like she was dying? Spots flooded her vision and she stumbled back, leaning against the wall outside the diner. 

“Morgan. Morgan. Hey, look at me, little one.” She raised her head to look at MJ, trying to focus on her despite the way the world was swirling. 

“Breathe. Just take deep breaths. In, one, two, three. Out, two, three.” Morgan breathed as MJ counted, and slowly the pain in her chest receded. It still felt oddly empty though. She felt wet on her cheeks and realized she’d been crying. 

“Let’s go, alright?” MJ offered her a hand, but Morgan didn’t take it. Almost together, they walked back to MJ’s car. 

Mj took her back home. Morgan resisted the urge to knock on the door, instead fumbling out her key and unlocking the bolts. A dusty smell filled her nose as she stepped inside, and she paused in the doorway, Mj behind her. The couch was in the same place as always, the silent television screen a solemn black, the whole room striped with afternoon light filtering through the blinds. She moved through the house like a sleepwalker, a blind person, an alien explorer. Her fingers trailed over dusty surfaces. The house was nothing more than a hollow space, a shell. Morgan slumped onto the step where she’d been sitting since she was a child, where she’d asked for juice pops, where she’d listened to her mom cry at night, where she’d cried her own tears. Now her eyes were empty, dry, watching Mj move through the space of her childhood. 

“I called Peter,” she said, turning to face Morgan, her hands buried in the pockets of her jean jacket. 

“Why?”

“Because I don’t feel equipped to handle you,” MJ said with a short laugh. “No, sorry, that didn’t come out right.”

Morgan shrugged, even though there were tears burning her throat. 

“Where’s your mom?”

“I don’t know.” Morgan shook her head. “No, that’s a lie, sorry.”

“Wanna tell the truth?” MJ wasn’t looking at her, instead picking up a magazine from the coffee table and thumbing through it. 

“At work,” Morgan sighed. “She’s always at work. I used to go with her, but… I dunno. It gets pretty boring, sitting in on board meetings. I’d be just as alone whether I went or stayed.”

“You’re not alone.” MJ tossed the magazine on the table, where it skittered across the glass. “You’re not, Morgan.” 

She shrugged. “Could’ve fooled me.”


End file.
